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He had written in capital letters round the walls of his cell these two beautiful lines of an old Latin poet: Tu mihi curarum requies, tu nocte vel atra Lumen, et in solis tu mihi turba locis. Thou art my rest in grief and care, My light in blackest gloom; In solitude which thou dost share, For crowds there is no room.
Their guide led them straight into the church, and as Butzbach's eye glanced along the plain Romanesque columns, past the gorgeous tomb of the founder, to the dim splendours of the choir, the words of the familiar Psalm rose to his lips: 'Haec requies mea in saeculum saeculi; hic habitabo, quoniam elegi eam. Peace had come to him at once, and he received it.
And as the old man tied up the bruised narcissus, in a cracked voice he sang to himself one of the vesper psalms, and I caught the verse: "Haec requies mea in saeculum saeculi: hic habitabo quoniam elegi eam." Arles was at one time a city of churches, but the hurricane of the Revolution swept over her, and now she has left but four.
'Tu mihi curarum requies, tu nocte vel atrâ Lumen, et in solis tu mihi turba locis. But while this is true of all marriages, it is obvious that different professions and circumstances of life will demand different qualities.
All that remains of her tomb of stone, the letters of which are almost worn out, is the following: " . . . Adorent, Utque tibi detur requies Rosamunda precamur." The rhyming epitaph following was probably the performance of some monk: "Hic jacet in tumba Rosamundi non Rosamunda, Non redolet sed olet, quae redolere solet."
"Haec requies mea in saeculum saeculi: Hic habitabo quoniam elegi eam." The monk laid aside his mitre and crosier and said, "Confirma hoc Deus, quod operatus es in nobis." And the postulant murmured, "A templo sacro tuo quod est in Jerusalem."
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